Why I Never Give to The Church's Collection Plate
It bellows. The sound echoes off the ugly wood panels, the horrible out-of-date walls. They carry Miss Jo’s tune though as she sits on the organ. I watch her fingers slide across the keyboard, the same notes from last week. She never misses a key. Miss Jo has been doing this for twenty years. I see her every Sunday, just like when I was a boy. She looks almost the same. Her once brown hair now is gray, her fair skin worn from age, and she wears glasses now. I often wonder why she wears them when she plays. It’s not like she has to read the music. Practice makes perfect, I guess. I used to know Miss Jo pretty well—we visited her house a lot when I was young. I would go with my parents after church. I used to play Mario Kart, with her son, a boy named Justin. I always picked Yoshi. The two of us were close. One might even say we were best friends. That was years ago. A time when Justin was still alive, he would be my age today. I have always felt bad for Miss Jo losing her son. The word around town is Justin’s room looks the same. It has the same bedding, same paint, and carpet, like when he was still alive. She even kept his Ninja turtles on display on his bookshelf. The only difference is his room is clean now. Justin was never much one to pick up. While she is always polite, the two of us speak little to another. I assume I remind her of him, so I can’t blame her. “How are you doing?” a voice breaks through the organ. I glance over to see Mary Anne sitting, with her young daughter Tonya. She is about seven now. The two look the same. They both share a dark shade of brown for hair, the same olive skin, and most importantly their eyes. It’s what everyone notices first, the round eyes with hazel pupils. They both wore white dresses today. I am guessing Mary Anne picks their Sunday outfits. "I am doing fine, I reckon." The two of us went to high school together. We graduated the same year. She was a popular girl, a cheerleader for the football team. We did not run in the same circles back then, but I had a huge crush on her. And now she still thinks that is the case. Not quite. I am not one for Mother’s dolling up their babies for pageants. I find it weird, frankly. “How is your Mama doing?” She asks while giving me a flirtatious grin. “I haven’t seen her in a hot minute, not even at the Walmart.” “She is doing fine. Just busy taking care of my dad. You know the dementia and all.” “Damn shame about that. I always liked your Daddy.” The music continues, but now Pastor Daryl is standing. A fat bumbling older man, who fancies tan suits. Ones that are much too small for him, “So how are you holding up on your end?” I ask Mary Anne even if I have little interest. It’s the southern thing to do. “Well between the salon and Tonya’s pageants, I am just running around busy all—” The organ goes quiet, and so does Mary Anne, like a small child in grade school when a teacher walks in. It’s silent inside the hall. The only sound is Pastor Daryl’s footsteps while he crosses the stage. The face of the Pastor is bright red, especially his nose. His thick cheeks moist with sweat, “I want to talk to you about faith today, my brothers and sisters. We’ve had many changes in the last few months.” He nods over to the church’s deacon, Scott Penn, a local detective. I am not fond of him, but he beats the old one who is now dead. We all watch while Pastor Daryl shuffles through his suit, he forgot his notecards. The dumb oaf. This happens frequently, but I hope he finds them. Because unlike Miss Jo, practice does not make perfect with him. He coughs, “Forgive me, folks. I have seemed to misplaced my sermon for today.” "The fat ass probably left them under his second plate of breakfast," I hear a whisper behind me. I hear the two snicker, as I turn to look at the two blondes behind me, their hair color store bought from the local grocer. I can see both Nancy and Donna chuckling to each other. They both wore blue today. It’s not unusual, but I can tell them apart, usually by their noses. Nancy’s nose is thin, with a small hook in it. Donna has a wider one, a bit crooked. She broke it in high school. And it’s a sore subject because of her insecurities. Donna playful slaps Nancy's thigh, "That's mean, Nancy! We both know he mistakes anything white as bread. He probably smothered it in butter." “Mm-hmm. I wonder if Darlene is on his diet? She thinks those long dresses and sweater cover those chubby thighs and belly,” Nancy replies. They are one reason I sit here. It gives me the latest gossip. Donna and Nancy are the pulses of the town. They show what people really think of you. Nancy chuckles, “No wonder Will left her. She keeps going this rate we can put her in the hog contest at the next county fair.” I am not a fan of today’s tales. Darlene is good people. I never had much to say to her, good or bad, but she is always kind. The poor woman lost a child a few years back, a little girl named Paulene. She was a sweet girl, a little blonde who loved ponies and princesses. I assumed the pain of losing a child takes a personal toll, much less a marriage. None that matters to the two behind me, "John would put me on a diet in a heartbeat if I got that size," Donna remarks. “Shush you two, have some respect at church!” Mary Anne chastises, forceful and quiet. “We are just messing around, Mary Anne,” Nancy smiles. It oozes a lack of remorse. “Just pipe down. We ought not to be talking bad about one another.” She spoke as if she was above it. I’ve known Mary Anne for a long time, and she is not. I’ve watched as the other two have flocked to her van after service. The tales they have carried from that van. Lots of rumors and gossips, they are worse than a knitting circle. They have always done it. I’ve always thought that’s why the three even came to church. Pastor Daryl coughs loudly, then fumbles his words, “Faith... Jesus, Ummm, said in Luke 17:1, Things that cause people to sin are bound to come, but woe to that person through whom they come.” For a moment, I forgot about his rambling sermon. He always goes back to that verse. Like, it makes him seem knowledgeable “Bless his heart,” Donna murmurs. Nancy laughs out loud, and even Mary Anne grins. I see a look of horror on poor Tonya’s face. She tugs her mother’s arm, signaling for her to stop smiling. Mary Anne regains her composure wrapping her arm around her daughter. She kisses her on the forehead then runs her fingers through her hair. I look to the loving scene, with a smile, even Donna catches a glimpse of my face. I can feel the fingernails tap into my shoulder, Donna gives me a smile, “When are you going to settle? You would make a great father, I bet.” "I have not put much thought into it," I lie. I do think about it sometimes. “You should get on that. You are the last chance your parents have for grandbabies,” Mary Anne remarks dryly before quickly change her tone. “I mean...I am sure your Mama would love it.” She is right about both. I am the only chance they have grandchildren, but it was not always that way. I had two older brothers once. I was the youngest, now though I am an only child. They call it a stroke of bad luck around here. That’s the biggest reason I come to this church. It reminds me of my brothers, and the better days, when they were alive. “That is the end of our sermon,” Pastor Daryl announces, he nods to Deacon Scott, who grabs a silver dish. He steps down from the stage, walking to the back. “It is that time of the year again, so please give accordingly.” I take a glimpse to Mary Anne while she opens her purse. She reaches and pulls out a handful of cash and a blank piece of paper. I watch as she keeps searching, finally pulling out a pen. She writes one word on the paper, Tonya. “No contribution will be in vain,” Pastor Daryl preaches. Deacon Scott arrives at my row with the collection plate. I look inside to see twelve folded pieces of paper lie among the cash and checks. Twelve children’s names. I shoot Deacon Scott a look of disdain, and he returns it, as I pass the plate over to Mary Anne without contributing. She closes her eyes as she places her daughter’s name in the plate. I watch as she wraps her arm around Tonya, hugging her tightly. She prays quietly, not saying a word, just moving her lips. I see the look of worry in her eyes as they open. I seen have that type of fear in this hall before, many times, and I will see it again. "Remember parents we have a meeting after service," Pastor Daryl declares. "We should really stop doing this every year," I hear Donna as she lights a cigarette. "We tried that before, and it did not end well." "Yea, yea, I know you are right." I walk to my car when I hear voices leaving the church. Mary Anne trails behind the rest, holding onto Tonya’s hand. It’s written on her face, a sense of dread. They chose Tonya this year. The little girl smiles, without a care in the world. She has no clue what happens next. I get into my car and put it in gear—it makes feel powerless to watch this cycle again. It reminds me why I will not have children in this town, especially when I see Deacon Scott. I shudder when I watch him place his hand on the child’s shoulder. It will be him who does the deed as he is the church’s Deacon. I told myself once, I would never contribute money or my blood to this church. That’s why I never give to to the collection plate. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta